Poetry seeks retreat in the bereaved lifestyle of
sad dog tear drop rain hearts love my love-
and it flocks from coast to coast with a sling
carrying either trite words everybody has heard,
or majestic "wallflower words" that nobody acknowledges
(you know, the strong quiet types).
It doesn't settle in the metropolitan areas
in pursuit of tequila love, Lamborghinis and
Visas latched onto somebody's legs like splints-
necessary for walking and maintaining
elegant postures in gladiator stilettos, glossy loafers,
slippery outfits that glister like mopped wood.
(tbc)
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